of Yatol Mado Wadon at that moment, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Would you have me beg?" he asked somberly.
Abbot Olin scoffed at him. "Your begging is of no practical use to me."
"Then what, Abbot Olin?" Yatol Wadon asked. "What am I to offer in exchange for your aid. Surely you understand that your position will be stronger if I rule in Jacintha than if Yatol Bardoh conquers the place."
"Truthfully, Yatol, I know of no such thing," Olin replied. "I have known Yatol Bardoh for years, and ever have we held a fondness for each other.
He was much more tolerant of Chezru Douan's arrangement with Entel than many in Douan's own palace of Chom Deiru."
Yatol Wadon couldn't help but wince at that last remark, for the reference was true enough concerning him specifically.
"But still you are here, and I have Master Mackaront's words as a guide,"
the desperate Yatol reasoned. "You are prepared to step in against Yatol Bardoh - you have said as much. So please spare me the cryptic games, Abbot, and speak that which you desire."
Abbot Olin came forward suddenly. "I will fend Bardoh's forces and save Jacintha for you," he said bluntly. "And as a reward, I will be seated in Chom Deiru beside you."
"There is always a spare room..."
"Not as your guest, Yatol," Abbot Olin clarified. "But as your equal!"
Yatol Mado Wadon blanched and blinked repeatedly.
"Together we will forge a relationship between Abellican and Chezru,"
Abbot Olin explained. "You and I will seek the common ground of our respective religions and we will use that ground to build a new religion."
"You wish to bring the Abellican Church to Behren!" Yatol Wadon accused, seeing the coy words for what they were.
Abbot Olin slipped back in his seat into a comfortable position and looked again to his two commanders. "I offer you a place beside me," he said. "One of luxury and comfort."
"A place for a stooge to give you credibility, you mean!"
"And if I do mean exactly that?" Abbot Olin retorted. "Your religion is in shambles, and you know it. All the pretense of Chezru died with the revelations of Yakim Douan's deceptions. You scorn the sacred gemstones of the Abellican Church openly, and yet your leader, your God-Voice, used those very stones to seek immortality. Do you really believe that the religion of Chezru will survive this? "And so I offer you an alternative," Abbot Olin went on. "Together we might rebuild the trust of the Behrenese people. Consider your options before you so readily dismiss my offer, Yatol. If I defeat Bardoh for you, Jacintha will survive. If I remain out here... well, I wonder how high the flames will leap over Jacintha."
Yatol Wadon glanced all around, seeming like a cornered animal. But again, he suddenly seemed to deflate, as if all the fight had been taken from him. "Stop him," he begged Olin, his voice no more than a whisper.
Abbot Olin's smile widened nearly to take in his ears. "I am fighting for a seat in Chom Deiru," he explained to the Yatol. "I fight well when the rewards are so great."
Abbot Olin turned to Bretherford and nodded, and the duke rose and left the room. He paused at the door and glanced back at the abbot, his expression ambiguous, as it had been since the rise of Aydrian, and all along this wild and unexpected journey.
"Go back to your... to our, city, Yatol Wadon, and instruct your archers to hold their shots as the warriors of Honce-the-Bear cross along your western wall," Abbot Olin explained. "Muster your own forces along the city's south wall alone."
"The south wall and the docks," Yatol Wadon replied. "We have information that Yatol Peridan has assembled a great fleet."
Abbot Olin and Master Mackaront both began to laugh. "Along the south wall alone, Yatol," he reiterated. "Your docks will not see battle."
Yatol Wadon stared at the man hard, not understanding.
But Abbot Olin merely laughed again, not explaining.
Screams erupted among the ramshackle buildings just outside Jacintha's southern wall, and flames quickly followed.
Yatol Mado Wadon and his assistants watched the beginning slaughter from the bell tower of Chom Deiru. The legions of Bardoh and Peridan - many of them wearing the colors of the Jacintha garrison! - marched among the buildings, wantonly slaughtering the dirty peasants as they tried to scramble out of the way.
A huge host of frightened commoners, peasant and refugee alike, swarmed the city proper's southern wall, beating their hands against the soft stone and pressing hard against